


A Day in Life of Yakov Feltsman

by Skowronek



Series: Yuuri on Tuesdays [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Medical, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Doctor Katsuki Yuuri, F/M, Humor, I'm Sorry, M/M, Medical Examination, Prostate Exam AU, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Urologist!Yuuri, Victor No Chill Nikiforov, Yakov Feltsman Is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skowronek/pseuds/Skowronek
Summary: Yakov just wants to survive the day with minimal collateral damage, but between his dramatic rink workers, receding hairline and prostate check, this is easier said than done.





	A Day in Life of Yakov Feltsman

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [День из жизни Якова Фельцмана](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642686) by [Hikari_Ai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikari_Ai/pseuds/Hikari_Ai)



> A word of warning - I think you can enjoy this without knowing the prequel, but for the sake of clarity (and perhaps sanity) you might want to read [I'll See You on Tuesday](url) first.
> 
> [Russian translation available](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6422330)

 

 

Josef recommended the clinic ages ago.

Back then, Josef’s hair loss treatment was exceeding his expectations, and Yakov, too, fell for the magic spells of web advertisements, London wizards in white lab coats, and incantations murmured to the rhythm of _androgenic alopecia._

It worked for both of them until the Winter Olympics of 2002. Yakov had the displeasure of being a coach of an Olympian who had been stress-watching _Firefly_ on ripped-off cassette recordings late into the night and kept flubbing his jumps alongside his chances to medal. Josef coached an overachiever who sneaked off at night to practice his triple Axel.

Their hairlines never recovered.

(Yakov quit that year. The press tried to blame him for his skater’s failure, and what could he say, it’s not my fault, it’s all because of that spaceship that didn’t get renewed for another season, whatever the hell that means? Men like Yakov did not whinge, hairless or not.

So Yakov quit that year and moved from Salt Lake City to Detroit, leaving his skater and his hairline behind in a trail as vast as Yakov’s forehead. He thought he’d find peace in Detroit, a city where nothing happened and everything was cold. Almost like in Russia, Yakov thought, only in Russia a lot of things happened and he liked very few of them.

He thought he’d find peace, but he found Victor Nikiforov).

Josef recommended the clinic when Yakov moved to Detroit and realized he should have been having prostate checks. Somehow, Josef knew a coach from Detroit, who knew an urologist in Detroit, who had the best bedside manner in Detroit. Yakov became a regular and continued booking his appointments there even after his doctor had retired and the clinic hired a new guy instead.

The new guy was good, and his bedside manner was better than the old doctor’s, and Yakov would never tell Josef so.

The appointments turned out to be the one constant in Yakov’s life – a safe space where nobody yelled, nobody moped, nobody whined, nobody fell in love, nobody stole any skates, nobody played tag on the Zamboni, and nobody, nobody, nobody, called Yakov out on his receding hairline.

(The latest hair loss treatment was not working).

 

_____________

 

Yakov’s appointment is in the afternoon, which means that he needs to suffer through a few hours at the rink first. There are a few things Yakov dislikes about the rink:

  1. The fact that he needs to teach children.( Yakov is not a kind of a person who likes children).
  2. The children. (They scream when they see Yakov. Always).
  3. His employee, Mila Babicheva, who teaches the children because Yakov refuses to teach them. (She’s a safety hazard who lifts children up in the air and skates away and considers it _teaching_ and she smirks and Yakov needs a drink).
  4. His second employee, Georgi Popovich, who teaches one on one lessons and who must have dated the entire city of Detroit. (Yakov doesn’t want to know, but Georgi _wails,_ and Yakov _knows_ ).
  5. His third employee, Victor Nikiforov, who exists.



 

_____________

 

When Yakov enters the rink this morning, Victor Nikiforov exists very loudly.

This is, in itself, a surprise. Victor has been prone to scheduled bouts of pneumonia for the past few Tuesdays, and it’s a Tuesday today. Something has changed. Yakov has smelt nothing in the air, and now feels bare and unprepared to face the man who should not be here.

(Yakov did not and will not tell him this, but he was looking forward to Victor’s pneumonia. The drama at the rink plummeted like the value of Yakov’s rubles in 1998).

‘I could _die_ by his _thighs_ ’, Victor says now. The open space of the rink carries his voice all the way to Yakov, who enters from the opposite side to Victor because he wants to be as far from the drama as possible. Yakov hears. Then he stops. Then he looks at the windows and assumes that no, unfortunately, defenestration is kind of impossible or at least highly inconvenient.

There’s Georgi by Victor’s side, which usually means trouble, and Mila is not there, which means trouble too, because Mila means trouble in general and Yakov has stopped caring. He decides it’s best to try to maintain an illusion of normalcy and survive the morning, and then just go home after the appointment and enjoy some peace and quiet and lack of Victor Nikiforov.

‘My Anya’s thighs’, Georgi sighs, loudly. Too loudly.

Victor cuts in, right into the small pause Georgi has to make to inhale more air that he needs to gush more about His Anya.

‘Mayuri’, he sighs. ‘Mayuri has thighs that could destroy gods’.

The name sounds vaguely Japanese. Yakov doesn’t bother to make an effort to remember it. At the rate he’s going, Victor will mention it at least twenty times in this hour alone.

Satisfied that now he knows the direct cause of Victor’s pneumonia, Yakov decides that a strategic retreat is in order. He falls back to his office. Mayuri’s thighs haunt him.

 

_____________

 

Mila Babicheva sits in his chair when Yakov enters his office.

Here’s the thing: at the age of seventy, Yakov is a confirmed bachelor who will never have a family of his own, and he’s perfectly okay with that.

(Yakov fell in love once, when he still had more hair than brains, and when the Soviet Union stood as strong as a country without any logical economic foundations could stand. She was a ballerina and he was a skater, she was way out of his league and he was just one among many in the audience, admiring from afar as Maya Plisetskaya took all the beauty in the world apart and put it together, and then took Yakov’s heart and threw it away without a glance, and it was really as simple like that. Yakov was too practical too pine. He was not _Georgi_ ).

Here’s the thing: Yakov is seventy and wifeless and childless and without a cat, and when he sees Mila Babicheva, he thinks: this is what it must be like to be a grandfather, and he hates it.

‘Get off my chair’, he says.

Mila doesn’t, because she’s insolent and insubordinate. The music’s on, Yakov’s favourite [Viktor Tsoi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKQW3SSqAxw) and his band Kino. Coincidentally, he’s also the only Viktor in the world that Yakov can stand – and Mila bounces on the chair, enjoying the music, although later she’s going to pretend that she doesn’t and tease Yakov about having an old man’s taste.

‘Do you know Victor’s cured of his pneumonia?’, Mila says casually. ‘He’s got a date tonight’.

Yakov recontextualises the thighs and the destroyed gods and Mayuri with the word _date_ , and then decides that his mind is better off blank, thank you very much.

‘Get off my chair’, he repeats.

Mila doesn’t, because she’s impolite and impertinent. She doesn’t even have a class on Tuesday but comes to the rink anyway because she knows it bothers Yakov, and her life mission is to bother Yakov as much as possible. Yakov’s hairline recedes a lot in Mila’s presence.

‘Have _you_ ever had a date, Yakov?’, Mila asks.

‘Get off my chair’, Yakov says.

 

_____________

 

Georgi’s one on one lesson does not start until 10:30 A.M.

Yakov always knows when it starts because he can hear it from his office.

Every week, it goes like this:

‘My Anya!’, Georgi wails. He probably adds some actual words in between, but Yakov is not sure. He’s never heard them.

‘Do not touch my sister, you perv’, a voice snarls back.

The voice belongs to Georgi’s student, who seems to come to the rink only so that he can discourage other people from dating his twin. Georgi has only one response to that.

‘She’s not your sister! My Anya!’.

(Despite that, the lessons are progressing well. Michele Crispino can do simple spins. Yakov knows to stay away from Sara. Whoever she is, she’s never set her foot at the rink).

 

_____________

 

Victor bursts into Yakov’s office with a smile too _soulful_ and too _cheerful_ to be considered safe. Yakov reconsiders the pros and cons of defenestration.

‘Yakov’, Victor says, and the urgency in his tone makes Yakov afraid. ‘I have a date tonight’.

‘Good for you’, Yakov replies, not looking up from his paperwork. Being a rink owner should come with perks, one of them being lack of idiocy around, but this will never happen in the vicinity of one Victor Nikiforov. ‘You can go home early today if you’re free in the afternoon’, he adds, generously, because he knows that Victor is free, and because maybe the man will decide to fuck off right this instant and leave Yakov alone.

‘Thank you, Yakov’, Victor says, with emphasis. Yakov hates the intonation – it strains his nerves like triple jumps once strained his legs. He doesn’t reply, hoping that Victor will leave, but of course, Victor never does what Yakov asks him to, so he stays.

Or rather: he flops down the chair and puts his legs up, up, up and on Yakov’s desk. There’s a pale blot of pink chewing gum stuck to one heel. Yakov eyes it with disgust he usually reserves for Victor only (when he’s oversharing) and Brussel sprouts (at any time).

‘Mayuri said to pick him up when he finishes at work’, Victor goes on as if he really thought Yakov wanted to hear that. ‘So I’ll go to his work. He’s so smart, Mayuri’, he gushes, and Yakov wants to ask who is not smart and point his finger at Victor.

(He admits it _is_ smart of the man to only give Victor his work address, or he’d move in permanently and/or stalk the thighs of his dreams, but then again Yakov doesn’t think it’s very smart to date Victor in the first place).

‘I’ve got such great things planned for this date, Yakov, just you wait...’

‘Wait’, Yakov says. ‘Why would _I_ wait?’.

He wonders whether his hopeless employee wants to date him now, too. It takes, roughly, two seconds before Yakov’s brain provides him with an image of himself, Victor, and Mayuri, whatever the man looks like, both of them calling Yakov _daddy,_ and Yakov still stands by the thought he had an hour ago, when he decided he was perfectly content being a man with no family to speak of, especially if it would be _that_ kind of a social group.

Yakov’s brain short-circuits. He thinks he can smell something sizzling.

‘Do you really need to ask?’, Victor pouts. Yakov reconsiders defenestration, for the third time that day and it’s not even noon yet. [Spokoynaya noch,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOYkG5VMhp8) sings Viktor Tsoi and Yakov closes his eyes, letting the music sweep over him and wash off all the annoyance Viktor inevitably follows Victor wherever he goes.

‘I’m gonna tell you _everything_ about my date’, Victor says. Yakov swears to god he can hear the italics. ‘Obviously. Yakov, don’t you know? You’re like a father to me’.

Yakov wants to weep. The music goes on and changes into a rhythmic energetic [beat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4k7o_pYLMlI), and the mockery of it punches Yakov in the face, hard. 

Yakov wishes he could teleport somewhere normal, somewhere safe, somewhere pleasant – or alternatively, Yakov wishes he could throw himself or Victor out of the window.

Defenestration is still not an option.

Yakov decides to go to his safe place.

 He opts for a prostate check instead.

 

_____________

 

It seems improbable, but Yakov hears his favourite band, Kino, the moment he enters the clinic. Kino’s what has kept Yakov alive during his years when he had to both deal with rink management and Victor management, and suddenly it feels great to walk into a safe, Victor-less clinic and be embraced by the familiar tune.

He walks to the reception desk, feeling lighter than in the morning.

Yakov recognizes the receptionist from before, a nice woman, if a little bit too bubbly for Yakov’s comfort, but competent and professional, which is more than he can tell about his own employees. He hesitates before addressing her – usually, she’d wave at him as soon as he entered, but there’s another woman with her now, tall and slim and with her black hair in a tight bun, like a ballerina. Yakov thinks of Maya Plisetskaya, who was so wondrous and not for him, and then realizes his felt hat is firm on his head, covering the baldness. Yakov decides the hat will stay on for the duration of his visit.

‘I thought you lectured on Tuesdays’, Yakov hears the receptionist say.

‘A change of schedule this semester. Just in time for me to pick the music for the office, too. I adore Viktor Tsoi’, the response comes swift, and Yakov hears the harsh traces of similar vowels, the softness of Slavic sibilants around the edges, and the lilt of intonation which brings him back to Sankt Petersburg, with its unmistakable architecture, heavy traffic and shitting seagulls. He could be well standing on the Blue Bridge, looking down at the Moyka river.

Yakov knows a Russian when he sees one.

‘ _Siny most’,_ he mutters to himself. It’s a silly thing to think loudly about a bridge, but homesickness does it to you – and Yakov is practical. He’s rarely homesick, especially not for a country that tore his soul apart with all its love and terror. It’s a silly thing to mutter, or maybe it’s not. The conversation stops; the woman turns around; her eyes are almond-shaped and bright green, like a larch in late summer, and her cheekbones sharper than Yakov’s skates. A woman with such cheekbones, Yakov knows, is not to be trifled with.

_‘Izvinite?_

So she is Russian, Yakov was right.

It’s now or never, Yakov thinks. That’s what the Bolsheviks must have said before they stormed the Winter Palace. He takes a deep breath – and _Bozhe moy,_ it’s good he wears the hat so she doesn’t see his hairline, Yakov will leave such intimate revelations at a later stage of their relationship – he takes a deep breath and decides to introduce himself in the only fashion that matters, that is in Russian, with a style.

_‘Zdravstvuyte, menya zovut Feltsman Yakov Alekseyevich’._

She’s stunning, Yakov thinks as he speaks, stunning the way a piece of art can be, stunning and terrifying, like Tchaikovsky’s music, like _1812 Overture._ She tilts her head at him in a calculating, birdlike move, and Yakov realizes that perhaps he should have taken the hat off, he’s not being polite at all, and he takes an agonizing nanosecond to decide that a man without manners is better than a man without hair.

‘Excuse me?’, a voice cuts in, and Yakov remembers that yes, the receptionist has been sitting there, third-wheeling and smiling and looking at Yakov with a weird kind of understanding. She sees right through him, Yakov realizes, and he wonders how many men come to the clinic innocent and pure and come out of it crushing wildly on the Russian goddess who shares Yakov’s language and Yakov’s passion for Viktor Tsoi and who still looks at him with a stony face.

Yakov knows this kind of an expression well. It’s not the Russian spirit to smile more than necessary. She looks intrigued, perhaps even amused, and it’s a good sign, and oh no, Yakov has forgotten the receptionist is talking.

‘Mr Feltsman? I’m sorry to interrupt, but Dr Katsuki’s already waiting for you’.

Oh, right.

‘I have a prostate check’, Yakov says to no one in particular.

‘Yes, you do, Mr Feltsman’, the receptionist tells him patiently, and then gets up and leads him gently to one of the office doors. Yakov follows, feeling the stares of the other patients on his back. Viktor Tsoi is still [singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oED4gk-LUyM).

‘Lilia Baranovskaya’, Yakov hears just as he’s going to enter the office. He turns around, slowly, like they do in the movies. Say what you want, Yakov does things with style. This is better than _Casablanca._

She doesn’t give him the patronymic, which leaves Yakov a bit disappointed, but he gives her a signature smirk and disappears in Dr Katsuki’s office with a click of the door.

( _So,_ Yakov thinks, _I have a signature smirk now_ ).

 

_____________

 

Yakov knows how prostate checks go. It’s neither his first nor his last, and by now he’s grown quite fond of the procedure.

(Yakov cannot imagine any context in which this sentence sounds okay, but then again – it may be enough to spend a day in Yakov shoes. Dealing with the rink and his merry band of miscreants is much more taxing than having a stranger put a finger up in Yakov’s butt in a perfectly professional environment).

Especially since Dr Katsuki is just _nice._ It’s not a norm in Yakov’s world, where his hairline is ridiculed on a daily basis and his orders are ignored every hour. Yakov knows Dr Katsuki will never harm him (whereas at the rink, curses fly, skates fly, and patrons fly away), and even if the visit is uncomfortable, Yakov knows Dr Katsuki will have another patient scheduled in half an hour. He can survive thirty minutes – his hell at the rink is eternal.

‘So, Mr Feltsman’, Dr Katsuki begins now. Yakov is so, so thankful for the normalcy. ‘It’s good to see you again. How have you been doing?’.

Yakov opens his mouth and wants to say _Fine, thanks,_ because English is a weird language and when people ask about your well-being, they don’t really mean it. Yakov has learnt pretty quickly that he’s supposed to say that he’s _fine, thanks,_ no matter how disastrous the circumstances of his life have become.

(So far, he’s said he’s _fine, thanks_ when

  1. the horrible economic situation in post-Soviet Russia robbed Yakov out of most of his life savings and dignity and prompted him to book an overpriced one-way ticket to America, where he went bitter and alone and with less hair than before the crisis;
  2. Josef’s new and miraculous hair loss treatment successfully proved to be working when Josef used it and it turned out to be a treatment that ensured you will have no hair whatsoever left on your head. It truly ensured the loss of one’s hair. Yakov spent two days frantically checking his heart rate because _he’d been meaning to use it, too_ ;
  3. Victor Nikiforov).



So it goes like this: Yakov wants to say he’s _fine, thanks,_ but he’s fed up, and he’s talking to a doctor, who by definition is supposed to be interested in Yakov’s health, and the doctor’s first language is not English anyway and he might be as baffled by the _fine_ ’s and _thanks_ ’s as Yakov.

This is what he says instead:

‘My employees have never been properly socialized and I think one of them carries glitter with him everywhere, and another has a booty call I don’t want to know about and I don’t want to know about _thighs_ and I just wanted to emigrate from Russia in peace and now I’m like a father only I have no children and also my hairline has receded so far back it’s almost backwards and there’s a woman in the hall and her eyes are like almonds and larch and Modigliani and I didn’t take my hat off’.

If Yakov shuts up, it’s only because he runs out of air. Dr Katsuki looks at him, calm and maybe a bit confused, but there’s nothing judgmental in his voice.

‘Ah. I see’, he says, and bless him, he says the second most wonderful words in the universe. ‘Mr Feltsman... I’m sorry to hear that, I’m really sorry’.

Yakov beams. It’s not Russian to smile so widely but he can’t help it. Only two words can top this ( _Lilia Baranovskaya_ ), and Yakov has heard them today, too.

Dr Katsuki continues his interview. Yakov falls into the soothing lull of the conversation; through the wall, Viktor Tsoi’s voice carries into the office memories of Sankt Petersburg, with its white nights and cigarette smoke that Yakov should not have breathed in.

‘Mr Feltsman, if you could  take your pants off and either bend down or lie on your side? It’s time for your prostate exam’.

Dr Katsuki’s voice is gentle, almost apologetic, but Yakov knows the man means well and _first, do no harm,_ so he takes his pants off, leaves the hat on, and bends down, thankful that all his years of exercise keep him quite flexible for a men who enters the eighth decade of his life. 

‘The sensation may be a bit unpleasant’, Dr Katsuki says regretfully. He puts his gloves on – Yakov can hear the faint stretch-and-squeeze of latex – and just as Yakov is bracing himself for one (1) gloved, lubed finger entering his anus, there’s a shriek outside.

Dr Katsuki stops in his tracks. They both can hear stilettos clicking against the floor and a calming voice followed by a more annoyed one, and then something sounds as if it fell on the floor.

‘Well’, Dr Katsuki says, ‘I think there’s some excitement. Shall we continue?’.

Yakov nods. The drama does not faze him – he’s seen worse, he’s stopped worse, and one shriek is nothing against the power of Mila’s young lungs and Georgi’s stentorian wailing.

‘It’ll take only a moment’, Dr Katsuki comforts Yakov and then he can feel a cold finger in his rectum, and Yakov manages to think it’s not that bad, it’s better than being stuck at the ice rink, and then the office door opens with a bang and Yakov’s brain freezes.

Dr Katsuki freezes, too. They stand directly in front of the door, which means that the entire reception room could take a look at Yakov’s digital rectal exam.

Viktor Tsoi still sings to a beat much too cheerful for the occasion, and Yakov thinks that all Victors in his life mock him and there is no escape.

A man’s head peeks into the office, young and smiling and then the man gauges the situation – Yakov stares back at him, sweating under his hat but keeping his glare cold like a Siberian night – and the smile fades so slowly that Yakov can observe the work of his mimetic muscles.

(The muscle which catches Yakov’s attention is the levator anguli oris muscle. Yakov doesn’t know it. He knows he wants to make this muscle disappear, along with the rest of the head of the man whose head does not obscure the view into the office at all).

‘Oh’, the man says. ‘I’m so sorry. Just a quick question – Yuuri, have you seen a hamster? He’s on the run again!’.

Dr Katsuki’s finger is still stuck inside Yakov, and Yakov clenches his butt muscles around it because it’s not comfortable and because – just as Dr Katsuki replies something quick and horrified – Yakov crosses his eyes with Lilia Baranovskaya through the gap of the door.

(Yakov’s hairline recedes spontaneously).

The door shuts with a clink.

 

_____________

 

‘Josef’, Yakov calls frantically. He’s hiding in the clinic’s bathroom, crouched on the toilet lid as if he was either in a rom-com or a spy movie. He’s entirely aware of the cliché.

‘Josef, I’ve just met the love of my life and I told her I had a prostate check  and she’s seen it and I didn’t take my hat off and I’m humiliated and Josef, my hair’.

Heavy silence falls all the way in Switzerland. When Josef finally replies, it’s in a heavy, long-suffering tone.

‘Yakov’, he says. ‘For god’s sake. Piss off’.

 

_____________

 

Of course Dr Katsuki apologized profusely, and it’s not like Yakov can hold the hamster apocalypse against him. Yet he leaves the clinic without regrets; the dark-haired man who opened the door is nowhere in sight, but the receptionist, who introduces herself as Sara, walks him to the door and looks like she’s going to cry, and Yakov can’t blame her – he’d cry if he had any tears left, but he’s saving them for his employees.  

(Metaphorically, of course. Yakov does not cry. His hair does not fall out.)

He’s almost at the door when he spots similar flash of pale blond hair and _oh no,_ Yakov just wants to pivot on his heel and march back to his urologist. He’d take ten prostate exams and hamster searches in a heartbeat if it means he can avoid running into Victor Nikiforov.

‘Yakov! You’re here! This is so fortunate, I can introduce you to Mayuri!’.

Victor looks like a ray of sunshine and smiles like he’s in a toothpaste commercial. Yakov experiences the abject.

‘Mayuri’, he says, woodenly, because he doesn’t have any energy left to deal with Victor and his booty call.

‘Yes! Mayuri! My life and love!’, Victor begins as Yakov considers possible escape routes. ‘He works here. I’ve come to pick him up, I’m a bit early, but I was just so excited, he’s so nice, Mayuri. Wait’, he adds and Yakov sighs and waits as he decides that he does not need to escape anymore, Victor is just too eager to enter the clinic so Yakov will be able to call a cab in peace soon enough – ‘Wait, Yakov, maybe you know him! Dr Yuuri Katsuki, he’s an urologist’, he eyes Yakov thoughfully, a finger to his lips, ‘I think a man your age should have regular check-ups. But don’t worry! Mayuri is the best at these things!’.

‘Jesus Christ’, Yakov sums it up. He manhandles Victor into the clinic and shuts the door behind him for good measure. He needs a smoke.

 

_____________

 

Yakov knows full well that he should not smoke, but there are days when he just can’t help it. He stands in front of the clinic and inhales with a bliss, feeling as if with every exhale every crappy moment of his day is gone, left behind and forgotten.

‘You shouldn’t smoke’, a voice says then, in English, but with a memory of a different language, much closer to Yakov’s heart than English ever had a chance to be.

Lilia Baranovskaya is tall and regal in her green jacket, and her piercing eyes glare at Yakov and his cigarette the way Yakov usually glares at Victor Nikiforov.

‘You shouldn’t smoke’, she repeats, in Russian this time. She uses the formal “you”. Yakov looks at her and feels as if their shared Russian grammar put a bridge between them. He wants to tell her to call him Yasha already, but he knows that’s not how things are done. ‘I should know. I’m a laryngologist’.

Yakov slowly he drops the cigarette to the ground, ecology be damned, and decides not to take his hat off. He needs to take things slowly.

‘Maybe I should book an appointment with you, then’, he suggests.

She passes him with a grace of a ballerina, and if Yakov’s hairline recedes again, it’s because of sheer happiness.

‘There’s no need’, Lilia Baranovskaya says. ‘I’ll see you. Next Tuesday?’.

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is the result of a strange discord conversation and a comment [Naamah_Beherit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit) once left under I'll See You on Tuesday. It escalated from there. 
> 
> [jumpforjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpforjo/pseuds/jumpforjo) offered to read through this and supported the idea from the start and they deserve lots of love <3 you can also find jo and their wonderful, wonderful art on tumblr [here](http://jumpforjo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, some trivia:  
> \+ [Maya Plisetskaya](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsSALaDJuN4) was a real person, and a freaking talented ballerina whose performances I'd loved long before I got into YOI, and Yurio's name just doesn't seem to be a coincidence I guess? I just had to include her here, and if you watch her you'll know why Yakov fell in love on the spot  
> \+ Firefly premiered after the 2002 Olympics but who cares about continuity shhhhh  
> \+ there really was a crisis in Russia in 1998  
> \+ Viktor Tsoi and the band Kino are some of the most influential names in the history of Russian music  
> \+ The Blue Bridge, or Siny Most, as well as the Moyka river are real sites in St Petersburg  
> \+ The Russian translates as follows:  
> Izvinite? - excuse me?  
> Bozhe moy - oh my god  
> Zdravstvuyte, menya zovut Feltsman Yakov Alekseyevich - Hello, my name is Yakov Alekseyevich Feltsman. Yakov's being really formal here, figures he wants to impress Lilia. Russian's a very nuanced language in terms of formality and they're being a bit stiff around each other  
> \+ Modigliani whom Yakov mentions was an Italian painter famous for beautiful pictures of long-necked women  
> \+ the prostate exam scene is inspired directly by a scene from a Polish film called Dzień Świra (Day of the Wacko) and you can watch it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQOq7g1FQ84) if you're brave  
> \+ And lastly, I'm so sorry
> 
> I'm excited to learn what you think! If you wanna chat about prostates or other things, I'm [on tumblr.](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com)


End file.
